The Calm
by ConfusedGoatee
Summary: The mission is simple, transport a killer to Zoo City to pay for his crimes. The journey is the real problem. Join Cleric Sheri as she experiences how deadly traveling with a red-eyed Weasel can be
1. Dirt Road

**Hello Readers,**

 **Fair warning, this story will not be updated weekly like my other stories so expect sporatic updates. Also this is a much heavier OC story, as well as a Fantasy AU. Hope you enjoy and criticism always welcome!**

 **-CG**

* * *

Sheri watched the prisoner carefully, shifting uncomfortably on the wooden bench of the wagon as it rocked back and forth. The canvas covering offered some protection from the midday heat as Leonis continued to pull the wagon. She heard her two companions speaking and laughing, but she would not be included in their discussion. The journey was to be quick, two days travel between Deer's Brook and Zoo City. Simply transport the prisoner to be tried for his crimes and then get paid.

The procyon bit her lip as guilt crept into her heart. Sheri didn't want the job, but she needed it for her family. A blight had destroyed half the wheat yield on their farm and if they didn't have enough saved, they could starve this upcoming winter. As guilty as she felt, she equally glad that the prisoner had already been detained so there had been no need for violence.

The raccoon's cotton robes were restricted by the rusted breastplate strapped to her chest. She clenched the wooden handle of her mace with one hairless paw. The head of it a smooth ball that had never been tested against an opponent. In her other paw she desperately clutched the holy symbol of Eldath, the quiet one. It was a wooden amulet hanging on a hemp rope that had been carved into a leaf with the form of a droplet of water in the center. The amulet gave the procyon peace of mind. Their mission would soon be over.

The prisoner was sitting on the bench opposite of her, shackled to the floor. His head lolled side to side as his eyes remained closed. The heavy steel clamps around his wrists and the metal muzzle attached to his face spoke of the danger that the Weasel posed. Still the Cleric was conflicted. The teachings of Eldath emphasized the need for peace, both inner and outer, and the mammal in chains looked under siege. The dirty, tattered rags he wore barely covered his lithe form. The white fur that extended down his muzzle and disappeared under what could barely be classified as a shirt looked so dirty that it almost blended into the rest of his brown fur. His long, what once may have been luscious, tail was matted and just as filthy as the rest of him. He looked thin, close to malnourished, as the jailers had to use the smallest cuffs for him. If not for one detail, Sheri may have believed the mustela framed for his crimes.

The prisoner opened his eyes, and blood red pupils landed on the Cleric. He closed them and rolled his head around his neck before focusing back on Sheri. The Weasel stared unblinking at the female, features blank to the point of looking bored. It was the same expression he wore at the beginning of their journey, and he seemed determined to wear it all the way to the gallows. She had tried to speak with the prisoner the night before, but it had seemed all for naught…

* * *

 _Leonis laughed boisterously, slapping a paw heartily onto his padded knee. "That is_ _ **hilarious**_ _!" roared the Lion, "how'd you get outta that mess!?"_

 _Zachariah, a brown Hare, continued to smirk as he leaned forward. "I'mma fast one, that's how! Best part?" The feline motioned for lapine to continue. "It was Paladin Hopps!"_

 _Leonis eyes went wide, "No!"_

 _Zachariah's smirk turned into a broad grin, "Yep, right up in the barn loft." He brushed his knuckles against his emerald green tunic, "She's not too bad."_

 _Leonis laughed once more, but Sheri continued to frown. The raccoon didn't trust either male, and their decision to provide stories of trysts around the campfire was one she wouldn't be a part of. They had stopped for the night to set up camp. The party had moved to the side of the road, each eating from their own provisions and arrangements. Still Sheri had heard stories of worse mammals to travel with._

 _The Lion's massive stature was only matched by his hubris. His size allowed for the feline to pull the wagon to its longsword and breastplate he wore were riddled with dents and scratches, all proof of past victories. His trousers appeared to be lizard hide, with different pieces of metal plates sewn onto vulnerable areas. The bracers on his forearms were etched with different symbols that Sheri recognized as magical, but what for she had no idea. It was because of his size and experience that Leonis was given the keys to the prisoner._

 _The Hare wore no visible armor, only the green tunic and black trousers. His weapon of choice was a thin rapier, with a yellow braid attached to the hilt. While the lapine was adept at swordplay, there's no question in the female's mind that his most dangerous weapon was his smile._

 _Sheri glanced at her own equipment. An old, rusted breastplate used by her father during the last Great War and a cast aside mace that a blacksmith had sold cheap as a failure by an apprentice. The raccoon's paw unconsciously touched the amulet around her neck. Her training as a healer no way complete, but the need for coin pushed her to leave the Followers of Eldath. The only reason she was allowed to join in the first place was for the request of a Holy mammal for fear of the prisoner._

" _What about you_ _ **cleric**_ _," Zachariah said pointedly, "You ever take a roll in the hay?" Sheri bristled and glanced away. The Hare huffed, "Thought so."_

" _Leave the poor girl alone," Leonis gently chided, "She's barely old enough to have been cut from her mother's strings."_

" _More like her mother's_ _ **teet**_ _!" quipped the lapine. Sheri glared at Zachariah, but didn't say anything. He sneered confidently, "What? You gonna say something?" She looked away. "Tch, figured. Let me know when you want a male to warm your bed...or better yet, your bedroll!"_

 _The raccoon blushed as she stood, ignoring the two as she stormed off. She heard Leonis say something, but didn't catch procyon stomped towards the wagon parked just ahead of their impromptu camp. Neither of the male's had checked on the captive, and Sheri hadn't looked in on him since they stopped for the night._

 _The journey was quick, and soon the Cleric was pulling herself into the covered wagon. The raccoon's night vision allowed her to see an awake Weasel staring at her with his red eyes. His gaze silently followed her as she sat across from him. The female settled onto the familiar bench and straightened out her robe._

 _She smiled at the prisoner, "Hello, how are you?" He remained silent. "Are you comfortable?" Silence. The procyon's ears tilted back, a burning question on the tip of her tongue. "Did you...really kill those mammals?" Silence. "If you…" the Cleric's words began to fail her, "...want peace. I can help you."_

 _The Weasel remained silent, but his gaze slowly shifted to the opening of the wagon._

" _So...you like'em like that." Zachariah snarked, "I can see the appeal."_

 _Sheri jumped, paw clutching her amulet tightly. She turned to see the smug Hare grinning mischievously at her._

" _How bout when this is all over…" the lapine started, lowering his voice, "...you can chain_ _ **me**_ _up! Who knows...I might enjoy it."_

 _The raccoon sputtered in mixture of rage and embarrassment as the Hare laughed and sauntered away._

* * *

Sheri startled awake, rocked to sleep on the wagon's journey. She looked about frantically, but nothing had changed. The raccoon sighed in relief. The last thing she needed was a joke from Zachariah about her sleeping on the job. The prisoner's eyes were once again closed, so the procyon decided to stick her head out to see where they were.

A canopy of trees shaded the wagon as it rolled along the road. The sounds of birds singing brought a smile to the Cleric's muzzle. It was a beautiful day, and if Sheri had been home she may have skipped her duties and lie under an old Oak that stood on the corner of her family's farm. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Something smacked her in the nose. The raccoon opened her eyes to a blue flower bulb sitting on the top of her muzzle. She frowned as she grasped it and looked closer. It was a deep, almost purple, blue with eight petals that gave the shape of a bell.

Sheri wracked her brain for what the flower could be, when she touched her amulet. It came in a flash. The raccoon gasped and tossed the poisonous plant away. "Demon's Helmet!" she hissed, wide eyed and beginning to panic. The Cleric scampered to the front of the interior of the wagon. "Leonis! Zachariah! There's danger about!"

"What's that?" called the Hare, "You need me to hold you?"

"Quiet Zachariah!" scolded the feline, "And Sheri I do not see any-"

A whizzing sound cut off the Lion as an arrow pierced through the canvas, missing the Cleric's head by mere inches. Sheri screamed and crouched low.

"Stay put Sheri! Zachariah with me!" The raccoon heard the drawing of swords "I shall not die here!" A mighty roar echoed through the air and shook the procyon to her core.

"Let us dance!" Zachariah cried out

The sound of battle erupted, as steel met steel. There was snarling, cries of pain and the ripping of flesh. Sheri scrambled to her forgotten mace and clutched it desperately to her as she remained crouched. Tears began to fall as she sobbed uncontrollably. She flinched at the sound of clashing metal, only to realize it was the clanking of chain links. The procyon looked over to the prisoner.

The Weasel was pulling desperately on the chain, but to no avail. His eyes landed on the Cleric and he motioned for her to come closer. She didn't didn't budge. Frantically he started motioning and pulling on the chains, but she wouldn't move. The mustela stopped, shoulders slumped and breathing heavy.

It was only then that the raccoon noticed the lack of noise. There was no battle, no roars or screams, no birds or bugs or anything, just complete silence. It was broken by heavy paw steps. Slowly the mammal moved to the back of the wagon.

Sheri whimpered, covering her muzzle with a paw as tears drenched her cheeks. This wasn't how the mission was supposed to go. It was supposed to be easy, just pick up the prisoner and ride back. There were no warnings of ambushes, or allies, or anything for that matter! All the raccoon could hope for now was they let her be once they took what they wanted. Her thoughts were interrupted by feeling of electricity in the air and her fur standing on end. She glanced fearfully to the prisoner, eyes widening in terror at what she saw.

The Weasel's body was tense and his hard gaze stared directly at the closed flaps of the wagon. What scared the Sheri the most was his open paws as between them danced what appeared to be black liquid lightning. It bounced from one digit to the next, crackling and flowing all at the same time silently. The Cleric had never seen magic like this.

An axe slipped between the canvas and slowly parted the side. Sheri saw the weapon wielder, a black Wolf dressed in black. She screamed. There was an explosion and the wagon tilted left as the canvas near the back was ripped to shreds. Sheri screamed again as she fell to the hard ground. She gasped as the wagon turned and landed over top of her, the sides keeping the vehicle from crushing the small mammals. The raccoon sobbed and hyperventilated, curling into herself and clutching her amulet desperately.

The sound of metal clanging caused her to cringe, but this time she recognized the sound of the prisoner pulling on his chains. As he kept pulling, the splintering of wood echoed in the enclosed space. Finally the wood gave and a loud crack caused Sheri's ears to flick back. She glanced hesitantly to see the prisoner lying on his back panting with a piece of wood lying on his chest and daylight spilling through. He groaned as he turned on his side and crawled to the back of the overturned wagon.

"Wait!" cried out Sheri, "You can't leave!" The Weasel ignored her and continued to crawl away. The raccoon frantically looked for her weapon, but couldn't see it anywhere. She swallowed dryly before crawling on her paws and knees to the exit. The Cleric sniffed and wiped at her eyes with her now dirty sleeves. It didn't seem appropriate to try and apprehend a mammal while crying. Finally she made it to the end and sighed in relief as a breeze swept across her whiskers.

Sheri straightened up and brushed off her robe, it was stained with dirt. The raccoon gasped when her gaze fell on a scorched corpse. A whiff of burnt flesh and fur caused bile to rise into the Cleric's throat, but she pushed it back down. She covered her nose as she looked away, ignoring the dead lupine and walking towards the front of the wagon. A scene of death and carnage awaited her.

The procyon diverted her eyes from each new corpse that appeared. Three dead Wolves, all with pained expressions and different wounds, laid around the cart. They all wore black tunics and trousers with a black cloak. Two had multiple blood soaked pinprick sized holes in their front. The third had Leonis' longsword skewered through him. Her eyes darted about until she saw the Weasel standing over a familiar figure. "Zachariah!" The mustela looked over his shoulder when she yelled, but turned back to the prone Hare. Sheri rushed to the pair, and gasped in horror.

Zachariah was panting, his eyes rolling about in his head as he clung desperately to life. His arms were sprawled out and a droplet of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. A large gash ran across his waist, innards exposed and blood flowed freely from the wound. At the sound of the raccoon, his gaze locked onto her. He smiled weakly, "Don't think we can get together now." The Cleric moved to heal, but was stopped by a raised paw from the mustela. Zachariah chuckled breathlessly, "Yeah, no healings gonna help me...did you kill the Wolf bastard who got me?" The Weasel nodded. "Good...could you do me one last favor?" The hare reached fruitlessly for his rapier, grimacing in pain as it was just out of reach. "Please!" he cried as tears formed, "Kill me with _**my sword**_!"

The Weasel nodded solemnly and bent down to pick up the sword. He paused and leaned over the Hare, unbuttoning his tunic and pulling it back.

Zachariah chuckled quietly, "Can't you wait for my death before robbing me?"

The prisoner clasped the rapier with both paws and positioned inches above the lapine's heart. He waited.

The Hare began to hyperventilate, pinching his eyes while tears flowed freely. "I don't wanna die," he whimpered, chin quivering in fear. Sheri bent down and grasped his right paw with her own. He looked at her as she touched her amulet. The lapine's breathing slowed and his eyes glazed over. A peaceful smile stretched across his snout. Lazily he looked to the Weasel and nodded. The mustela plunged the rapier through Zachariah's heart. He gasped, eyes wide in shock and back arching, before sighing and falling back down.

Sheri sniffled and looked towards the prisoner, only to find the sword dropped and him moving on. The raccoon kissed the back of the Hare's paw before standing and following the mustela. The shock of seeing Leonis' lifeless corpse was present, but dulled after Zachariah. The Lion was bent over a dead Wolf, paws wrapped around the throat of the lupine. An axe was sticking out of the top of his skull, handle high and grimace on his muzzle. The procyon wanted to look away, but morbid curiosity kept her gaze on the Weasel.

He was patting down the Lion, looking for something. The mustela squeezed underneath the large mammal and disappeared. It wasn't long before he reappeared with something jangling in his paws. It was the keyring. The Weasel lifted the key, unlocking the left cuff, and then the right. Finally he raised the keys and unlocked the constricting muzzle. He sighed in relief and rubbed his face, smoothing out his fur. The wind picked up, the smell of blood wafting in the breeze as he lifted his nose high into the air. He breathed deeply.

Sheri clutched her amulet with both paws, shaking as the now free prisoner opened his eyes once more. She let out a squeak and shrank as his gaze landed on her. The raccoon tried to speak, but no words came out. He stepped closer to Cleric, his tail twitching with each step. When he was less than a step away, eyes locked onto Sheri's, he spoke in a raspy voice.

"Leave me the rutt alone."

* * *

 **Eldath is not my original creation. I found it on ForgottenRealms wiki and she fit perfectly for the Sheri I imagined.**


	2. The Grove

Sheri trudged through the forest, no path except for the one the Weasel made. Her robe continuously got caught on loose branches and bushes, nicking at it as she past. "Wait!" she cried out, "Stop!" The Weasel didn't stop or slow at all, and instead appeared to increase his pace. "You can't leave! You're under arrest!" Her breastplate and re-acquired mace slowed her process down tremendously.

The Weasel whipped around and growled, "By who? You?" He laughed and continued onward.

"Stop!" pleaded the raccoon, "You can't just run away and take that stuff!"

The mustela held up a parcel of clothing, "He's already dead so he doesn't _**need**_ it!"

"And the dagger?" The male stopped dead in his tracks. Sheri hurried forward to make up the lost ground, "I *huff* saw you take it from the Wolf. Why are you trying to hide it!?" The Cleric didn't understand. No sooner had the former prisoner threatened her, he stripped Zachariah of his clothing and started searching the other bodies. She had watched wordlessly as he rooted through the Wolves, but caught sight of him hiding a dagger in a cloak. What may have been a dagger to the medium mammal, might as well have been a short sword to the mustela.

The Weasel started trudging through the forest once more, "It's none of your concern!"

Sheri gasped for breath as she tried to keep up. Her robe was caught once more, but by a much more curious plant. It was a purple flower with yellow near the bulb, several petals bent down with several more rising up. She smiled as she recognized the plant as an Iris and touched her amulet. Luckily, a triumphant cry came ahead of her and the raccoon focused back on the now missing prisoner. She marched forward, confident that Eldath was watching over her.

The forest finally parted to a wide open grove. A pool of water underneath a waterfall fed a stream that disappeared into the woods. The Weasel was sitting on a rock by the side of the water and bent over. The raccoon approached cautiously, remembering the liquid lightning the mustela could create. As she grew closer, she saw the male scrubbing at Zachariah's former tunic.

"That's not yours," scolded the raccoon with paws on her hips, "You can't just...just _**take**_ things!?" The argument sounded kitish even to the Cleric, but it was the principle of the matter.

"I'll give it back to the Hare when he comes for it," grumbled the Weasel as he focused on scrubbing. He finally sighed and looked at the raccoon, "Why are you here?"

Sheri folded her arms and tried to appear intimidating, "Because...you're under arrest and my job is to get you to Zoo City to face justice!" She finished her statement with a confident nod.

"And how do you plan to do that?" the prisoner questioned sarcastically, "Especially with _**that**_ around your neck!" He turned back to the tunic, "I thought Eldath was all about peace and nonviolence."

"Pacifism," corrected Sheri with a raised digit "there's a difference." The mustela stopped and stared silently at the raccoon. His blood red eyes bore into the female's hesitant gaze. She placed her mace down and grasped her tail, running her paws through the grey and black banded fur. "W-well nonviolence means just that, no violence. Pacifism just means focusing on self-defense or defending others."

"In other words there's nothing you can do to stop me unless I attack you," deadpanned the Weasel. He turned back the tunic.

"I can." insisted Sheri.

"How?"

"By…"

" _How_?"

The raccoon cringed, "...by…"

The mustela stood, gaze unblinking as he closed the gap between the two. "Go away. It's only gonna get worse from here."

The Cleric's lips quivered and she shook her head petulantly. "I can't!" She plopped onto the grass, her head falling into her paws. Everything from the day caught up to the raccoon. Leonis and Zachariah may not have been her favorite mammals, but they spent three days together. Without either the feline or lapine's fighting ability, the procyon was lost. She sobbed and shook her head slowly.

"Why do you want this so badly?" asked the Weasel, "Most others would call it quits, forget about the job and head home. What makes you different?"

Sheri sniffled, "My family needs money, and I get paid thirty gold pieces for bringing you to Zootopia. Without it, I-I don't know if we can make it through the winter..."

"Well...that rutting sucks," sighed the mustela, "Either you break your vowel and _**try**_ to fight me, or you just hope I give in and go hang for my crimes." He chuckled darkly, "Sorry bout your family, but I ain't going to the city."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" pressed Sheri, "I can't give up, and I can't go home without payment." She looked up at the mustela, and saw true sorrow in his eyes. "What _**can**_ I do!"

The mustela sniffed and scratched the underside of his muzzle, "You're gonna stay with me till you get money, right?" The Cleric nodded. He sighed, "Alright, if it'll get you off my tail I'll help you."

"How are you going to do that?" Sheri asked meekly.

The prisoner grinned wickedly, "I'm gonna kill some mammals."

* * *

Sheri threw more wood onto the fire. She ignored the splashing water and focused more intently on the burning inferno.

"You sure you don't wanna come in?" called the Weasel, "The water's _**great**_!"

The raccoon huffed, "No thank you!"

"What put you in a bad mood?"

The Cleric glared incredulously at the swimming Weasel. She stood and stormed towards the edge of the water, fists balled and swinging at her side. The former prisoner was rubbing his fur clean, floating in the center of the pond. He didn't even glance at her, even when she huffed and folded her arms disapprovingly. "What mood am I _**supposed**_ to be in!?" screamed Sheri, "Do you want me to be _**happy**_ that you're going to kill random mammals!?"

"They're not _**that**_ random," defended the mustela as he scrubbed his shoulders, "I told you that already."

"No you didn't," replied an increasingly frustrated raccoon, "All you said was you were gonna _**kill**_ some mammals and _**imply**_ that I was going to get coin from it. For all I know you could become a highway _**bandit**_!?"

The Weasel looked up with pursed lips. He bobbed his head side to side, "Never thought of it like that…" The male paddled closer to the Cleric, stopping waist high in the water. He paid no attention to the growing blush on the female. "I'm going to kill the Pack that's after me and give you whatever coin they have."

"Why are they after you?"

The former prisoner's nostrils flared and a scowled flashed over his muzzle. His red gaze hardened before he sighed with shoulders slumping. "The less you know the better," he eventually muttered. The male waved flippantly at the female and turned back to the water, "Now go away before you turn redder than a tomato."

Sheri's blush doubled, aided by her embarrassment. She turned and stomped off to her fire, planning on leaving the Weasel be...for now.

It would be some time before the mustela would join her by the fire, now dry and somewhat clothed. While Zachariah's tunic fit enough of the male's lithe form, just being too short to fully cover his midsection, the Hare's trousers were too long for the mustela. With the other mammals too big, the former prisoner was left with the sorry excuse of trousers he was transported in. The size of the cloak was too large for the Weasel, but he past this hurdle by cutting almost two thirds of it off.

The Cleric had found several edible mushrooms and was roasting them with a stick over the fire. She hummed a tune while turning the mushrooms, the aroma putting a smile on her face.

"Stop singing."

The quickly morphed into a frown as she glared at the relaxing Weasel. "I'm humming," she corrected, "And I can hum it if I want too."

The mustela, who had been stretched out next to the fire, groaned and pushed himself up. "Do you have any idea how sad song is?"

Sheri blinked, "What?" She had heard the tune once from a travelling bard. The Stag played his lute masterfully, and he had the best voice the female had ever heard. A few daydreams in the passing days were focused on the handsome herbivore. Still he had sung in a different language, so all she knew was the tune.

The male rolled his eyes, "Of course you don't." There was an awkward silence as the Weasel looked up to the sky, lips moving noiselessly. He huffed, laying on his back and waving a flippant paw in the air. "I can't even remember all the rutting lyrics."

"What _**do**_ you remember?" pressed the Cleric curiously.

The mustela grimaced, and then spoke slowly. "Oh lovely rose...my soul sweet...let me not die...in courtly love." He threw up his paws flippantly, "Sounds better when sung."

"What _**is**_ courtly love?"

"Are you kidding?" shouted the frustrated male, "Do I need to explain love while I'm at it!?"

"Hey!" exclaimed the female, pointing an angry digit at the Weasel, "I've _**heard**_ that phrase thrown around a lot, but that doesn't mean anyone's _**explained**_ it!" She scowled as she looked down at her mushrooms, focusing once more on her dinner. There was again a sigh on the other side of the fire, causing the raccoon to glance up.

"Courtly love," began the male with paws folded on his stomach, "Is like forbidden love. It's love that isn't supposed to happen, but kind of does anyway." He turned on his side to look at procyon. "You know those stories of knights and paladins rushing off to go slay some dragon or ogre in order to impress a girl?" Sheri nodded. " _ **That's**_ courtly love."

"That's not really a definition," grumbled the raccoon.

"Well that's how it was explained to me," retorted the mustela pointedly. He sat up and looked around them. "Anything good to eat around here?"

Sheri's brow rose, "I'm cooking it now."

The Weasel's head whipped back to the raccoon, his expression a mixture of disbelief and suspicion. He crossed his legs and folded his arms, watching the female more intently.

The mushrooms were done in no time, and the Cleric blew on them delicately. Once they were sufficiently cooled, she offered first shroom to the former prisoner. He remained motionless. She frowned, "Take one."

"You first."

Sheri scoffed, "Do you think I'd get poisonous mushrooms?"

The Weasel's eyes narrowed, "All you have to do is slip me a death cap, knock me out and then carry me to Zootopia."

The raccoon laughed mirthlessly. "First off, death caps are called death caps because you die when you eat them. Second, there's _**no way**_ I could carry your body back to Zootopia by myself. Finally I'm a pacifist, which means no aggression unless provoked."

"Why is pacifism the last one?"

Sheri's gaze narrowed as she scowled, "Because you're just enough of a jerk to make me regret not finding a poisonous mushroom."

"Which proves my point, so you eat first."

"Oh Eldath give me strength! Fine! I'll eat the first one!" The Cleric grabbed the biggest mushroom, tore it off the stick and popped into her muzzle unceremoniously. Even without seasonings the mushroom should have tasted great, but it may as well been ash as the raccoon's ire removed all taste. "See!" she exclaimed, offering the mushrooms roughly back to the Weasel, "Not poison!"

The mustela glared at the procyon before snatching a mushroom. He examined it for several seconds before tossing it into his maw.

The pair ate in silence, the only sound disgruntled chewing. When all of the mushrooms were finished, and Cleric's breastplate finally removed, only then did the raccoon ask an important question. "What's your name?"

The Weasel, who had been picking at his teeth with a claw, stopped and glanced over to the procyon. "Doesn't matter," he replied, "Soon we'll part and we won't ever think about each other again."

"I can't keep saying 'Hey you,'" countered Sheri, "I need _**something**_ to call you!"

The mustela glared, "Prisoner isn't enough?" There was a heavy silence before the male yawned and stretched out on the ground, "You're gonna make this a thing, aren't you?"

"I just want-"

"Call me Deirdre," interrupted the mustela harshly, "And that's all you're getting out of me." He snorted and closed his eyes, the new cloak serving as a makeshift pillow "Well...my name's Sheri." The Weasel remained silent.

Sheri looked towards the pond crestfallen. All of her personal belongings were with the wrecked cart, and there was no doubt in her mind "Deirdre" would disappear as soon as she left. The raccoon had no plan, no skills, not even rope to try and tie him up. Add in whatever crazy power he had, and there was no way the Cleric could overpower him. At the same time, she couldn't condone "Deidre" running around murdering mammals. The procyon fought back a yawn and rubbed her exhausted eyes. Today had been completely and utterly terrible, one of the worst days of Sheri's life. It didn't look any brighter as the tired female came to realize that she may be stuck with the Weasel for awhile.

* * *

 **Hello Readers,**

 **Quick note, the song Deidre speaks is "O Rosa Bella" which is a 15th century song. So no worries about Copyright since that one's been public domain for awhile! Let me know what you think!**

 **-CG**


	3. The Goddess

Sheri was abruptly awoken by a rough paw shaking her shoulder and one firmly keeping her muzzle closed. She gasped at the red eyes staring down at her, and didn't calm down when she noticed her position. The Cleric was lying in nothing but her robes with a murder kneeling over her in the middle of the night. The raccoon tried to flail, but Deidre pressed down firmly on her shoulder.

"Stop!" he hissed, exposing his teeth inches away from the raccoon, "They're gonna find us!"

Sheri stopped moving. Her breathing was heavy and labored as she sucked in as much as air as possible through her nose. It was night, with the embers of the fire completely burnt out. She pinched her eyes closed, only to be shaken once more by the mustela.

"I need you to focus," he whispered, "because right now we're surrounded." Deidre removed his paw from Sheri's muzzle and leaned in close, whiskers brushing against each other. "Where's your mace?"

"I don't know," admitted the Cleric quietly. She thought she left it next to her when she fell asleep, but both paws came up empty.

The Weasel sighed heavily. "Just so you know, I want to berate you so badly right now." He slowly looked around. "Ok...your breastplate is near your head for some reason. Use it to hide behind and I'll try to deal with them."

"How many are there?"

"...Four."

"Four!?" Sheri hissed, eyes wide in panic, "How are you going to take on four?"

"It's fine!" loudly whispered Deidre, "Just focus on staying alive! I'll-" A howl interrupted the Weasel, sounding close as several others joined in. "Oh you know what!" The mustela jumped up, raising his paws to where the howl came from. "Rutt off!" Sheri's fur stood on end as a blast of the black lightning, so dark that it stood out against the night sky, shot out from the male. The ground shook and the grove lit up as an explosion ripped through the trees. "Plate! Now!"

Sheri scrambled to her knees and desperately grasped for the rusted breastplate. With a triumphant cry, she found it and brought it close to her chest. Another explosion shook the ground as the raccoon momentarily lost her balance, falling to her knees. Rushing steps caught the Cleric's attention as she glanced up to see a Wolf in black barrelling towards her.

The lupine snarled as he stabbed his sword directly at the raccoon. She screamed and braced against the breastplate as the blade bounced off it. Sheri landed on her tail painfully. The Wolf loomed over her, growling as he stepped down on the plate and lining up his sword. Before he could strike, a high pitched bark stopped him.

Deidre appeared, stabbing the lupine in the thigh. The Wolf reeled his head back and howled in pain. "Come on!" he shouted as he pulled Sheri to stand, "We gotta-" An off balance swing from the lupine cut off the Weasel as the blade forced the pair apart. "Just die already!" growled the mustela as he raised a paw. Black lightning shot out of his palm, but missed the lupine directly. An explosion from behind the Wolf sent the attacker flying forward.

Sheri stood, only to be knocked back over by the blast. The raccoon shrieked as dirt and debris rained from above. "You're terrible at this staying alive thing!" she heard Deidre shout. She glanced over to the Weasel and saw him still standing, seemingly unphased by the carnage around him.

He looked down at the crumpled Cleric. "Get up if you want to live." Sheri scrambled to stand, a death grip keeping the breastplate in her paws. He glanced around, red eyes scanning grove. "Two still standing. One I definitely blew up and that other one is at least injured." The Weasel widened his stance, arms stretched out and paws open, as his tail bounced up and down. "Here they come…"

The raccoon watched as the two healthy attackers slowly closed in on the pair. Her body trembled as she bit down a whimper and she pressed the breastplate closer to her. The Cleric inched towards the Weasel, eyes never leaving the hooded figures as they approached. She could see their apprehension with each step, apparently not expecting the mustela's abilities, yet they closed the gap with swords drawn.

"Crouch down, cover your head, and do a better job of staying alive!" instructed Deidre tensely. The Weasel's gaze never wavered from the approaching lupine. He scowled and flexed his digits, fur on his tail standing on end. "Come on," he muttered under his breath, "Just a little... _ **NOW**_!?" The male thrust both paws forward, black lightning shooting out from both at the Wolves.

Sheri ducked behind the breastplate, it only big enough to cover most of her head and some of her body. A massive explosion rocked the raccoon, throwing her into the air and onto her back with a hard thud. The Cleric gasped as her breathe was knocked out of her. She stared wide eyed to the sky as her body felt numb. There was the sound of crackling wood and fire lit up the night. Then the pain began.

Burning sensations rocketed up all her paws, her abdomen, and the top of her head. She cried out, back arching, as the pain intensified with each passing moment. It was too much for the raccoon to handle, and all she wanted was an end to the suffering. Her body shook uncontrollably as wave after wave of needle sharp pain wracked her extremities. The Cleric barely acknowledged the soft pawsteps that closed in on her.

Deirdre bent closer to the procyon, his blood red eyes sweeping up and down the female. "Nothing I can do…" murmured the mustela solemnly. He sighed and stood up. "All you had to do was stay _**alive**_ ," the Weasel began bitterly, "but _**apparently**_ that was too much!" The male closed his eyes let out another sigh. He ran a paw over the top of his head, "I'll find a knife…"

Sheri whimpered and pinched her eyes shut. Was this what Eldath had planned for her? To die in agony in a destroyed grove, alone and away from her family. Is this truly the peace that her goddess wanted for her? The Cleric slowly brought a shaking, burnt paw to her amulet. Even though she had been scorched, the holy symbol remained unharmed. She painfully gripped the cool wooden leaf and breathed staccato breaths in and out. The Cleric had faith that Eldath would at least grant her a peaceful passing. It wasn't too long before Sheri felt a drop of water on her cheek. And then another. And another. Until a heavy downpour soaked the raccoon. Instead of agonizing pain from the water hitting her wounds, each droplet soothing the pain further until it had dissipated completely. The Cleric's eyes sprung open as she saw a crescent moon in the cloudless sky. She heard the loud cursing of the Weasel.

"Of rutting _**course**_ it would rain! Soaking me to the bone and putting out the damnable fire for good! Not that it mattered since I gotta dig a grave too!...At least the ground will be soft…"

The raccoon rolled onto her side with a groan. Her external wounds appeared to be healed, but her back felt like one big bruise. She struggled to stand as the heavy rain continued to fall. The Cleric panted as she finally was able to look at her condition. The sleeves of her robe, as well as the bottom, had been completely burned off and exposed her arms and just below her knees. There was a large hole in her midsection, the edges around it severely burned.

"What...the... _ **Rutt**_ …"

Sheri glanced around to see Deidre staring slack jawed at her. He balked, rubbed his eyes, blinked, and then balked again. The Weasel stepped forward and then stopped, "How…"

The Cleric smiled and raised her paws and muzzle to the sky, "Eldath has blessed me this night." The rain finally petered out as the fires that lit the night died out. Sheri sighed happily, honored that her goddess rewarded her devotion. The raccoon made a mental note to make an offering when she returned home.

"Gods...just don't do _**that**_!" exclaimed the stupefied Weasel, "I have _**never**_ seen _**any**_ god step in to save _**any**_ of their followers!"

Sheri giggled, "Well Eldath does!" She felt overjoyed and completely refreshed, like she had slept a whole day away. The Cleric surveyed the damage around her. Vegetation had been blown to bits and trees were scarred by fire, but nothing so permanent that nature needed assistance healing. The raccoon sighed in relief. "Alright!" she exclaimed with paws on hips, "What should we do next?" Her enthusiasm obviously stunned the Weasel as he didn't respond right away.

Eventually Deidre scowled, "Well we somehow find their camp and-"

"Convince them to give up their evil ways!" interjected the rejuvenated procyon triumphantly.

"...kill them." continued the mustela, "I'm going to kill them."

"I don't think so! Eldath healed me for a reason and I think it's to ensure you don't hurt anyone else. Why else would she do it?"

The mustela opened his muzzle and raised a claw, but simply closed his mouth and shook his head. He went to a burnt corpse and examined it. Sheri quietly approached the kneeling Weasel as he patted down the dead lupine. She could hear the male muttering under his breath. "When will she stop?" he murmured lost in thought.

"Who?" asked the raccoon, leaning closer to the mustela.

Deirdre didn't respond, instead continuing to pat down the corpse. He pulled back the scorched tunic and pulled out leather coin purse. "Here," grunted the male, pawing the bag to the female, "Probably got a few pieces in there." The Weasel then stood and moved to the next body.

Sheri scowled at the purse in her paw. It was definition of blood money, but the morality of keeping a killer's coin wasn't covered in her training. She loosened the strings and peeked inside. Six bright gold coins greeted her. The raccoon closed the purse and looked about. There were no pockets in her robe, and a cursory glance didn't reveal the Wolves having any satchels."How can I carry this?" she wondered out loud. A crumpled piece of fabric smacked her in the muzzle. It was the cut piece of robe from before.

"Use that," answered the mustela.

The Cleric huffed, her good feeling slowly being replaced by the frustration from earlier in the day, "And _**how**_ am I supposed to do _**that**_?"

Deirdre stopped his search and stood. He stomped over to the female, ripped the cloth and then the purse out of her paws. "Like..." he grumbled. He held the fabric taut between his paws and let the purse slide into the middle. The mustela then pinched the parallel sides together and spun it until it was tight. Without warning the Weasel reached around the raccoon and tied the fabric in the front of the female. "...this." He huffed and wiped his brow with the back of his paw. "Got it?"

Sheri examined as much of her new "belt" as possible. The black stood out against her beige cotton robes, but after the damage done it helped keep the outfit tight. She could feel the coin purse just above her tail. The procyon pursed her lips as she couldn't find fault in what the Weasel had done. She looked away and spoke quietly, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Deirdre groused, "And find your mace! We gotta move."

"Why?"

The Weasel sighed heavily, shoulders slouching as he looked at the closest corpse. "One got away, and he'll tell his superior where this place is. Since they found us that means something even worse." He looked directly into the raccoon's eyes, his blood red gaze deadly serious. "They have our scent."

* * *

Sheri once again followed the Weasel through the forest, but this time no more than a few feet separating them. She'd been instructed to leave her breastplate, and after the fight last night it was useless anyway. The raccoon had her mace resting on her shoulder, accidentally left by the tree where she found the mushrooms. It was now morning, the sun just above the horizon and birds beginning to chirp. She smiled as a Robin flew from branch to branch, singing its song merrily.

The procyon turned back to her silent companion. They left their makeshift camp while it was still dark, and with the sun as it was meant they had been walking for several hours. Sheri was used to the early mornings and hard work, it was simply the way of life on a farm. What surprised her was how much endurance Deirdre possessed. Even though he appeared malnourished, the Weasel seemed to have endless energy. Not once on their trek did he slow down, instead keeping an even pace. If not for his intense gaze ahead, Sheri could be forgiven they were taking a stroll through the woods. She sighed contentedly as her gaze swept from tree to tree, admiring the foliage.

"Quiet!" whispered Deidre harshly.

Sheri frowned and looked back at the Weasel. "Why?" she whispered back.

The mustela threw his muzzle skyward with inaudible groan before turning to the raccoon with a snarl. " _ **First**_ , we're trying not to draw any unwanted attention. _**Second**_ , we _might_ be closing in on the Wolves camp, so we _might_ _ **want**_ to stay quiet. _**Finally**_ …" His shoulders slumped with a heavy sigh as he looked at the ground, "...I was trying to find the trail again."

"What were you following?"

Deirdre pointed behind her, "There's a faint trail of blood from the Wolf that escaped, but around ten feet ago they just stopped."

The Cleric glanced around warily, "Could it be a trap?"

The Weasel snorted, which earned him a glare from the procyon. "If it was a trap, then we'd be dead already!...No...it's more like they either realized they were making a trail or just decided _**now**_ to cover it up!"

"I can asked Eldath for guidance," offered Sheri with a shrug.

"You just used a lot of god points on that Lazarus impersonation," Deirdre stated blandly, "Are you sure she'll reply?"

It was the raccoon's turn to scoff. "Eldath _**wants**_ to help me! I'm sure she could easily do this." The procyon glanced about the forest until she saw what she was looking for. Surrounded by Oaks, Cedars and Pines was a lonely Birch Tree. It's white, flaky bark contrasted against the green scenery around it. The Cleric smiled and walked over to the tree.

"What are you doing?"

Sheri waved off the Weasel and kept heading to the tree. Birch trees were emissaries for growing forests, always on the edges and helping push their boundaries further. It was this reason that the tree held a place of honor for Eldath and in return her followers. The raccoon knelt in front of the white tree, bending down and touching her forehead to an exposed root. She closed her eyes and touched her amulet, praying quietly for guidance.

"This is ridiculous," grumbled the mustela that had followed her to the tree, "how the rutt is a rutting tree gonna give us rutting directions to a-"

The leaves of the trees around the pair shook yet no breeze blew. A crack echoed from above before a heavy thud sounded behind the female. Sheri smiled victoriously as her prayer had been answered. She stood and wiped the leaves and dirt from her robe before turning to look at the male. A large branch from a nearby tree had broken off and fallen in between the two. The wide eyed, startled expression on Deirdre told the Cleric how much her goddess disagreed with his slander. "Do you believe me now," questioned the procyon rhetorically as she studied the branch.

"Could have been a coincidence," mumbled the mustela, sounding unconvinced by his own words.

Sheri smiled slyly, but didn't say anything. The branch was pointing towards the Birch, which suggested they walk past it. Sadly distance was not possible to ascertain from the simple directions. Still Eldath wouldn't lead the Cleric astray. "It's that way," Sheri stated, pointing a digit behind her.

The Weasel huffed and folded his arms, "Why should I believe a rutting tree?" Another crack sounded above him and the mustela flinched. "Alright! Alright! We'll go that way!" Deirdre sighed and stepped over the branch, glaring at the raccoon. "Guess you better lead the way."

Sheri's smile doubled as she led the mustela in the direction pointed out. Finally, _she_ was the one leading the way.


	4. The Tiger

The teachings of Eldath taught the importance of modesty to all of her followers, something the Cleric was having a difficult time with at the moment. Hidden prone in the bush on the outskirts of a clearing, Sheri just couldn't help but glance at Deirdre. Each time, her victorious smile grew bigger and bigger. It had taken several hours, but the pair eventually stumbled onto the Wolves camp. She glanced again at the unhooded mustela.

"You ever gonna stop gloating?" Deirdre groused quietly, gaze locked on the clearing.

The raccoon shrugged happily and whispered, "Maybe when you admit that Eldath is always willing to help those in need." The male huffed and her smile grew further. She turned back to the camp, "Where is everyone?" The camp was nothing more than a fire pit surrounded by several bedrolls. There were no Wolves around, but Sheri could barely make out something leaning against a tree on the other side.

"Probably out looking for me," whispered the mustela, "That _is_ what they're supposed to be doing."

The Cleric frowned and cast a questioning eye at the male. Deirdre still hadn't said why the Wolves were after him. For all the raccoon knew, he could have insulted them with his vulgar mouth. That didn't explain their willingness to kill Leonis and Zachariah. If they simply wanted the Weasel dead, then why interrupt his way to the gallows in Zoo City? The procyon looked back at the camp. "I don't see any traps."

"Neither do I," confirmed the male, "Probably because only crazy mammals would raid a Wolf's camp."

"So why are we?" questioned Sheri.

"To get your damn gold," grumbled Deirdre with a hard glare, "It's either this or wait for them to find us."

The raccoon's eyes went wide. "You're going to steal again?" hissed the female.

The Weasel sneered, "It's either that, or you help me kill them. Which one's holier _**Cleric**_?" Sheri frowned. Both were deplorable, but killing was always worse. Deirdre chuckled, "That's what I thought." He crawled out of the bush silently and into the clearing, brushing leaves off his cloak and tunic. The mustela stepped into the camp cautiously with paws raised.

"Wait!" loudly whispered Sheri as she tried to follow, her robe and mace getting caught in the bush. She grunted and pulled against the stubborn bush, rustling leaves and branches until she was finally freed. The Cleric cried out triumphantly and turned back to the Weasel, only to see his eyes closed and pinching the bridge of his muzzle. "What?" The Weasel shook his head and turned back to the camp. He began warily searching the scattered possessions. Sheri huffed with arms crossed, following behind the male and glancing about. Nothing stood out until she glanced at the object against the Oak. The procyon gasped.

Tied against the large tree wasn't an object, but figures. The raccoon could see a Weasel, Badger and a larger mammal only revealed by an orange and black leg. They wore similar outfits, a long tunic with a tartan pattern that reached their respective knees. The Cleric rushed over, ignoring the cursed shouts of the Weasel, and bent next to the closest mammal. It was the female Weasel, but the bruises and swelling on the tied mammals face made it almost impossible to tell. A deep, jagged cut across the mustela's throat told the raccoon she was too late. Sheri moved on to the next mammal, a female Badger who was in even worse shape. Cuts and stabs covered her arms and chest, never enough to kill on their own but together enough for her to bleed out. Her black and blue dress stained dark around her wounds. There was an agonized expression on the deceased Badger's face. The raccoon grimaced and touched her amulet. Feeling defeated, the Cleric slowly made her way to the larger mammal.

It was a female Tiger, all beaten and cut up like the latter two. Sheri put her mace down, climbed up the feline's leg, her thigh as big as the Cleric, and tried in vain to check for life. The raccoon placed paw over the tied up female's chest, hoping that she wasn't too late. Then she felt it. A heartbeat. It was weak and slowly fading, but was still there. Tears built in the corners of Sheri's eyes as _**finally**_ there was someone she could save. The raccoon moved to call for Deirdre, when an unfamiliar voice called out instead.

"What's the point of getting out of bed if our quarry comes to us?" questioned the voice.

Sheri froze, her breath catching in her throat.

"Mother said to be careful," reminded another voice, "And _**we**_ don't want to cross her!" There was a chorus of murmurs from several other voices.

"Do I get a say in this?" Deirdre asked.

"Not really, no," replied the first voice boredly.

"Huh…" started the Weasel, "...well I know seven Wolves who didn't give me a choice either." The mustela chuckled darkly, "And they didn't get a choice where their pieces landed." A unison of growls and ringing of swords being pulled from their scabbards answered the smaller mammal. "I guess you don't like that...well... _ **Let's Go**_!"

The sounds of battle ensued and Sheri cringed into the unconscious feline. She was shaking as explosions shook the ground. An explosion close to the tree caused the raccoon to fall off the Tiger. The Cleric threw her paws over her head, closing her eyes and hoping it would end soon. Something tickled her nose. Sheri hesitantly opened her eyes. It was a flower. Six white colored petals with flecks of yellow and black tickled the raccoon's nose. The flower swayed with the wind, back and forth between the procyon and the feline.

"Devotion?" questioned the Cleric. She looked at the face of Tiger and grimaced. Eldath was sending the raccoon a message, but it didn't make any sense. What did devotion have to do with the unconscious feline? She steadied onto her hind paws, placing a paw on the larger mammal's calf. There was only one thing that Sheri could do. The Cleric breathed deeply, clasped the amulet and focused on her paw.

Slowly, a warm, white light appeared from the raccoon. It spread from the much smaller paw, climbing up the Tiger. The light gradually covered the injured feline, darkening and then brightening over each wound. Tears streamed down Sheri cheeks as the sound of battle intensified. " _Please_ be alright," she whispered, " _ **Please**_ help!"

The Tiger's hazel eyes sprung open.

* * *

"Stop this!" the raccoon begged, arms outstretched between the two mammals, "There's been enough bloodshed!"

"She started it!" barked Deirdre, right paw outstretched in front of him with black lightning dancing between his digits. The Weasel's left arm hung limply at his side, bleeding profusely from a deep gash as he panted heavily. His right eye was swollen and bottom lip split. The green tunic had a cut through the center, but appeared to have just missed the mustela. "I didn't even _**try**_ to kill her!"

"Ant muthir lilaishmizaz!" roared the Tiger, "Sawf ashaq lak, harb habib!" The wounds before the battle had only partially healed, and a fresh new cut across her left forearm glistened red against her striped fur. In her right paw was the Cleric's mace looking like a kits toy, the smooth head of the weapon bathed in blood.

The mustela groaned and rolled his eyes, "That doesn't even make sense! Why can't your people come up with new words? 'War' and 'Lover' doesn't even make sense!"

"Wait, you can understand _**her**_?" exclaimed Sheri, turning back to the mustela.

Deirdre glanced at the procyon before focusing back on the feline. "Course I do! She ain't saying nice things either!?" The Weasel aggressively stepped forward, red eyes wide and fur standing on end, "You aren't taking _**me**_ down _**kitty**_!"

The Tiger growled and Sheri pushed futility against the feline. "Tell her to to stop!"

"Oh like she's gonna listen to me!"

The Cleric huffed, frustrated by the two stubborn mammals. "Fine!" She gritted her teeth and touched her amulet, placing the other on the feline's shin. The procyon focused completely on her paw and a white light appeared. Slowly, and very reluctantly, she felt the Tiger's body lose tension. The larger mammal swayed, trying to steady herself, and then crumpled to the ground. Sheri doubled over from the exertion, panting heavily before turning to the Weasel with a determined glare.

Deirdre was looking at the downed feline, smiling triumphantly. "Ha! You deserve that!" exclaimed the victorious mustela, "I hope you're dead you mangy bag of- _**What are you**_ …?"

Sheri was tired of the Weasel running his muzzle, deciding she needed a break. The raccoon grabbed Deirdre's injured left arm and once more concentrated. She ignored his panicked words, and gave a simple command. "Sleep!" The Weasel screamed as smoke appeared between her glowing digits. The procyon felt her paw burn. He resisted, much more than the feline, but eventually the mustela collapsed. Sheri fell to her knees, paws just catching her before smashing her muzzle into the ground. Her right paw still sore from the momentary touch. Sweat dampened her brow, gasping desperately for air. After several minutes, she finally regained her strength and pushed herself onto wobbly legs.

The raccoon sighed heavily as she surveyed the scene. Eight bodies, though two were simply sleeping, littered the destroyed camp. The battle was a blur of screams and explosions. Deirdre had been outnumbered, outmaneuvered and fighting desperately to stay out of the lupine's grasp. Once the Tiger joined the fray, everything changed. The feline easily broke out of her rope restraints, grabbed the procyon's mace, and finally gave the weapon a taste of battle.

She raged, bashing in the skulls of two unsuspecting Wolves. Deirdre took advantage of the confusion and blew up another lupine. Sheri peeked from behind the large Oak tree, keeping a frightened wide eye on the fight. Eventually the Tiger and Weasel prevailed over the lupines, but then turned on each other. It was only the raccoon's quick dash to get between the two that stopped another mammal from being killed.

Trees were burning or completely black, the bushes and foliage along the edges completely obliterated. Unlike with the grove, nature would make much longer to heal from this fight. The Cleric sighed, feeling defeated that once more she failed to stop bloodshed. In this case, her actions led to even more violence. Sheri rested her head in her paws. What had she done? Eldath preached peace, yet Sheri incited acts of destruction. The procyon sniffed, tears welling up and rolling down her cheeks. Her ears switched at the sound of movement next to her. The raccoon glanced hesitantly in Deirdre's direction.

The Weasel was standing with his back to her, arm still limp at his side. He rolled his head on his shoulders and groaned. The male tried to raise his left arm, but it barely moved. He muttered, "What have you gotten yourself into this time boy?" The mustela reached his right paw and held it just above the wound. He turned the outstretched paw clockwise, a faint blue light appeared.

Sheri shook as once more the male performed magic she had _**never**_ seen. To her astonishment, the blood running down the Weasel's arm reversed course and went back into the wound. Even with her rudimentary understanding of magic, the Cleric could tell that _**this**_ was no healing spell. She stepped back, terrified of mustela who she still knew so little about.

"I do apologize my dear if this... _ **fool**_ has tried to kill you," spoke Deirdre solemnly, "If you would like to run, I do so understand Sheri."

"Wh-Why would I run?" stuttered out the procyon, taking another step back, "I-I ju-just put y-you to sleep to st-stop you from getting hurt!"

The Weasel grunted, "We both know that's not true. Granted this kits profanity laced speech drives most mammals hate him." He turned and faced the raccoon, bowing as he spoke, "I do apologize for…" he paused and looked up at the female, "...Deirdre? Is that what he calls himself?" He waved a paw flippantly, smiling as he approached the raccoon. "Doesn't matter now my dear." He clasped the Cleric on the shoulders and gave her a quick shake, "You are free!"

Sheri was dead. That was only answer for the change in the Weasel Sheri was dead and this was a vision from Eldath to give her a peaceful end. There were several things wrong with this vision that she just couldn't overlook. For one, the male was speaking completely differently. His cadence, choice of words, and lack of profanity were simply not how Deirdre spoke even moments ago. The male was smiling and wasn't speaking about murder, and it was a _**genuine**_ smile. Finally, the angry blood red eyes when she first saw him were no more. They were replaced with a soft brown that shone with a confidence that the mustela never showed. Sheri started hyperventilating.

"Now, now Cleric. There is no reason for this fright," Deirdre tried to soothe, "Either way you can simply walk away with-"

Sheri fainted.


	5. Two Souls

Sheri woke sluggishly, the smell of food cooking rousing her from slumber. She stretched out, yawning as the crackling fire greeted her. The raccoon slowly opened her eyes, expecting to see her family's hearth with her mother cooking breakfast for her and her siblings. Instead she saw Deirdre, sitting next to a fire pit roasting several herbs, vegetables and two lizards on sticks. The odd sight was made even odder by the sound of the mustela humming. The Cleric's dream of the Weasel with brown eyes was made all too real when he looked at her and smiled.

"I'm glad to see you awake. You were only out for an hour, but it's always better to enjoy a meal with company." The Weasel looked completely healed, none of the damage from the battle still on him. The tunic looked good as new, and somehow even his pants looked better.

Sheri was at a loss for words. Her muzzle opened, then snapped shut. What could she say?

He chuckled and gave the fire a few pokes with a long stick, "It must be confusing making small talk with a mammal who has threatened you." The mustela grinned wryly, "But, uh…" he frowned and leaned closer to the raccoon, "...what did he say his name was?"

The procyon's confusion only increased. This…. _ **version**_ of Deirdre didn't seem to know his own name. How was that possible? Could it be a spirit or demon possessing this poor mustela? But then wouldn't the male in front of her be referring to his name and thanking her for quelling the being? Was this some sick game to have Sheri drop her guard around the Weasel? But then he had the chance to kill her _**last night**_ and didn't take it...so what was going on? The Cleric cleared her throat and straightened out her robe, sweeping off the leaves and dirt as she remained seated. She clasped her amulet, concentrating on the Weasel. "What's _**your**_ name?"

The mustela's grin grew, his shoulders hunched and elbows resting on his knees as the end of his poking stick glowed red from embers. "Detecting if I'm evil or not? No...possibly if I'm lying." He laughed and slapped his free paw on a knee, "You truly _**are**_ a brave Cleric!" The Weasel sighed and focused back on the fire. "I'll tell you my name, my story, even some of his...but I have a price!" The male raised a claw at the end of his statement. "Will you accept my deal?"

Sheri balked, "I do not make deals with demons!"

"What evil do you see of me?"

The Cleric glared. There was no evil aura around the mustela, yet the red eyes she had seen should have been proof enough. She kept her amulet in paw, and scoffed at mustela. "It's not uncommon for evil spirits to hide their evilness!"

"Say that with more conviction and I'll believe you next time." joked the mustela with a wry grin. His mirth dissipated slowly until the male was looking at the raccoon solemnly. "Will you take my deal?"

Sheri still looked suspiciously at the Weasel, "...What do I have to give you?"

"Your word."

The Cleric blinked, "My...word?"

The mustela shrugged, "I need nothing else from a Follower of Eldath than their word...but I must warn is that what I shall ask is a heavy burden."

"What is it?"

The Weasel sighed, and placed his stick down, "Two options will be given, and whichever you take you must give me your word that you will stick to it." He rubbed a paw over his eyes, "I...truly wished I didn't have to do this...but I do not believe you meeting him was a chance encounter. Sihkoouse doesn't play with dice."

"I…" the words dried up in Sheri's throat. All he wanted was her word to perform one of two actions. Without knowing those actions, the Cleric couldn't decide. Could she really give her word to kill someone? Of course not. What if she couldn't live up to her end of the deal? What would happen to her? Memories of the awesome power that Deirdre possessed sent a shiver up her spine. Was this chance worth the ability to learn more about the dangerous Weasel? She glanced down at her paws and then up at the mustela. "...I accept."

"Splendid," the Weasel replied calmly, "I haven't talked to anyone about myself in ages." He stood and cleared his throat, paws clasped behind his back as he straightened up. "My name is Reginald Stoatsman, Duke of Weaselburg." He frowned and his posture slumped a bit, "...well when it was _**around**_ …" He waved a paw flippantly. "No matter. What _**does**_ matter is what I shall tell you…"

* * *

 _I was born in six eighty seven where my father was still an Earl-_

 _Wait! How's that possible!? That would make you…_

 _Two hundred and fifty...give or take a few years. You live two and a half centuries and stop caring about birthdays. Anyway my father was the Earl of Weaselburg and my moth-_

 _How are you_ _ **alive**_ _!?_

 _Are you going to interrupt me each time?_

 _How can I take you seriously when you tell me you've lived for_ _ **centuries**_ _!?_

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Reginald grumbled, pinching his brow, "Ignore my age and focus on what I'm trying to tell you!"

"You cannot be mortal _**and**_ live that long!" shouted Sheri, desperately clutching her amulet, " _ **Only**_ demons can live that long on this plane!"

The mustela laughed heartily, "Do you truly _believe_ that only demons could live long lives?"

The Cleric opened her muzzle, but hesitated. She wasn't well versed in the study of demonology, but it made sense that _**only**_ demons could live for _**centuries**_! The raccoon glared defiantly and nodded.

Reginald chuckled, "Have you ever heard of Avatars?" Sheri shook his head. "I should have guessed. Eldath rarely has them...but other gods use them _quite_ frequently. I could go through all the gods and some of the Avatars of old, but its best to focus on my own story." The Weasel sat back down with a grunt, "Centuries before I was even conceived my family made a pact with Sihkoouse, Watcher of Time. The god would bless us with his power, and in return his Avatar would live for six generations past the death of his own." The mustela sighed, shoulders slumping, head hanging exhaustedly, "...Do you know how long a generation is?" The raccoon remained silent. "Thirty years...thirty years of watching loved ones grow old and fade away. Thirty years of seeing descendants forget ancestors, and living as a grimoire for the dead. Thirty long _**bitter**_ years…"

The procyon's heart ached at the sight of the somber male. She reached a paw before pulling it back to her body. To her knowledge, demons couldn't feel anything but anger. "So...who is Deirdre?"

"My grandson...or to be precise my great, great, great, great, great, great, great grandson...I think."

A brow rose on the Cleric, "You think?"

The Weasel shrugged apologetically, "You lose count after the first hundred descendants."

"How's this possible?" questioned Sheri suspiciously, "There's no magic in the world that can combine mammals, and only demons can grant longevity. Are you a spectre? Do you possess him or he possess you?"

"You sweet, naive Cleric," gently chided Reginald, "so focused on me being demonic that you never studied your surroundings." He waved a paw flippantly.

The raccoon looked about, and was dumbfounded. The scars of the battle were gone, the luscious greenery restored to its glory. The blackened trees now stood proudly without a scratch, bushes and flowers in full bloom. Grass that had been trampled down by travelers of the past now peeked out of the ground. She saw the Tiger still asleep. The feline's comrades against the tree, though no rope in sight. It was truly beautiful...but…

"Where are the Wolves bodies?"

Reginald grunted, shifting slightly in his seat. "Disposed of...in a way..."

Sheri finally stood and moved to the Tiger. She ran her paw over where she remembered wounds to be. Nothing was there. Even the greatest healers could not stop scars from appearing, yet there were none on her body. It was as if they never existed. She turned to the Weasel, "What magic can do this?"

Reginald opened his muzzle, about to answer, when he doubled over in pain. The male groaned, pain written all over his face. "I apologize my dear, but I used too much of my energy." He panted, gaze catching the raccoon, "Give me your word that you'll either stay with my grandson or run far away and never see him again." He grimaced and writhed, paws coming to his midsection. "Choose…"

"There's no time," deflected the Cleric, "I need to think an-and consider the consequences. You haven't explained what you can-"

" _ **Choose!**_ " bellowed Reginald, red seeping into his brown eyes.

"I'll stay!" exclaimed the startled raccoon, "I'll stay and make sure he doesn't kill and I'll-"

The Weasel reeled back, a feral growl escaping from his throat. Black lightning arched across his body, scorching the grass around him. He fell backwards, fur standing on end and tail twitching.

Sheri slowly moved towards the mustela. "Reginald?" A crack from fire caused the female to jump. She glared at the flames before continuing to the Weasel. The Cleric clutched her amulet as she approached the male's right. "Deirdre?" The procyon reached a hesitant paw to the mustela. Just before she touched him, Deirdre's paw snatched her wrist. She let out a startled cry.

The Weasel's eyes opened, glowing blood red and filled with malice as his grip tightened on the female. He snarled, all of his needle-like teeth on display as a growl built in his throat. "Touch me again, and I won't hesitate to kill you," Deirdre threatened, his tone conveying the truth in his words. The raccoon tried to pull away, but the mustela held on. He slowly raised his other paw as it sparked silently. The Weasel pointed his paw to the sky and whispered, "Boom." The spell shot from his paw, and an explosion above the pair rocked the trees and shook the leaves.

Sheri leaned back and dug in her heels as she desperately tried to escape the male. Eventually she succeeded, falling flat on her tail before scrambling away from the Weasel. She watched cautiously as Deirdre stood, clutching her injured wrist to her chest. The male dusted himself off, turned and waved flippantly.

"I'm gonna find water," he said, "Don't follow me."

The Cleric glared darkly at the Weasel, watching him intently as he disappeared into the forest.

* * *

When the Tiger woke up, the lizards finished cooking. The Cleric offered the groggy feline a stick as the larger female rubbed the back of her head. Sheri didn't miss the outline of dirt of the mammal behind the Tiger. Apparently the grass didn't grow like it did for the rest of the clearing. The raccoon watched intently as the feline gingerly nibbled on the small morsel as if to savor each bite.

Sheri was surprised by the unexpectedly docile nature of the feline. She expected the same aggression as before, possibly even storming off to find Deirdre, but the larger female remained silent. The raccoon watched carefully as the Tiger finished her meal and stood, legs wobbling a bit. The Cleric followed as the feline staggered over to the large Oak.

The large feline leaned heavily against the tree as she looked down at her fallen comrades. A low whine escaped the Tiger as she slowly fell to her knees. She crooned and carressed the smaller mammals faces. The larger female leaned down and started whispering rapidly, interrupted only by sniffs and staccato sobs.

Sheri moved to the Tiger's right, tears building in the corner of her eyes. The bodies were in pristine condition, as if they were simply asleep. The Cleric wished she could do more, and didn't understand how Reginald's magic could heal the body like this. The raccoon placed a paw on the side of the feline, too small to place it on the shoulder. "I'm so sorry," mumbled Sheri, "I wish I could have saved them."

The Tiger sniffed and braced a paw against the tree as she pushed back up. Her eyes were closed and cheeks were wet, but no more tears fell. She reached a paw and placed on the raccoon's opposite shoulder, pulling the procyon closer. A silence settled over the two females, only the sound of sniffling breaking it. The larger female eventually scooted away and turned to face the smaller mammal. She grasped the raccoon shoulders with both paws gently, almost covering the procyon's front and back completely. The Tiger began to speak slowly.

"Ana 'aelam 'anak la tastatie 'an tufhamani," she started, "Ant 'anqadht hayati. Ruwhi lak. Aismahuu li 'an 'adfae dayuniin."

Sheri shook her head confused. "I...don't understand you."

"Just say yes," called Deirdre from behind, "If not she'll be a pain in the ass!"

The raccoon shot a glare over her shoulder at the Weasel. He was standing with his arms crossed and a deep frown, droplets of water hung off his whiskers. "Why should I agree to something that I can't understand?"

The Weasel smirks and opened his muzzle to speak, when he shot a paw up to the side of his head. He grunted and shook his head. The mustela shook his head again and squinted at the procyon. "I…" he grimaced and shook his head a third time, "...I feel like you would."

Sheri blinked, " _What was that?"_ She pushed aside the question as a thought occurred to the female. "You can understand her right?"

"Yeah."

"Well what she saying?"

Deirdre scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Why should I help you?"

Her brow furrowed. "Because..." the raccoon's brow rose, a plan forming, "...because I healed you." She nodded her head, "Yep, I healed you!" Sheri had no idea what Reginald's magic was, but it appeared that Deirdre didn't remember the conversation she had with his other half. She didn't know this for sure, but it felt like a gamble worth taking. The Weasel opened his muzzle for a rebuttal, but the Cleric cut him off. "Doesn't your arm feel better? How about your stomach? All of your injuries?" He huffed and looked away. "You owe me!"

"Fine!" exclaimed the mustela, throwing his paws in the air, "I'll translate for you!" He stomped closer to the females as Sheri turned back to the still waiting Tiger.

The feline's eyes narrowed on the male. "Harb habib," she hissed with a snarl.

"Rutt off," Deirdre muttered, "Sa'atarjam." The Tiger quieted, but cast a dark glare at the mustela once more before softening her gaze on the procyon. The Weasel continued to speak, "Alraakun yaqul 'ana 'arwahakum wahidat."

The feline gasped and hugged the Cleric tightly, "Shukra! 'Iinaa 'ukhtuk!" Tears streamed once more as she rocked side to side with the raccoon, purring very loudly.

Sheri was trapped by two powerful arms against the Tiger's broad chest. She patted the feline where she could, but her arms were pinned down. The raccoon tried to turn and look at the Weasel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the male cackling away. "What did you do?" she seethed.

"Congrats Cleric," laughed the mustela as he held his splitting sides, "You got yourself a slave!"

* * *

 **Hello Readers,**

 **Here's the quick translation for what everyone said. Tiger:** **I know you can not understand me. You saved my life. My soul is yours. Let me pay my debts.**

 **Deirdre: I will translate. Raccoon says that your souls are one.**

 **Tiger: Thank you! I am your sister!**

 **Criticism always welcome and let me know what you think!**

 **-CG**


End file.
